


you feel the shivers go up and down your spine for me

by Evanaissante



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Fights, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nicknames, Oral Sex, POV Quentin Coldwater, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 03:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: Quentin and Eliot have been together for two years now and they have a great relationship and a good life. But sometimes, the Mosaic isn't as easy as it should be, sometimes stress has its way to wreck their pleasant routine and sometimes Quentin is just a dickhead on purpose because he can't deal with Eliot's calm and composed attitude anymore.A futile fight reminds Quentin of everything he has and everything he can lose, but when he wants to make his apologies to Eliot, the other man as a few suggestions, none of them as chaste as they could be.





	you feel the shivers go up and down your spine for me

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! this is a very quick one-shot that popped in my head two hours ago and that i just had to write! also, this is the very first time i write porn soooo, yeah! enjoy!

Quentin had always liked to think that the most surprising thing about his relationship with Eliot, apart from the sheer insanity that someone like him could ever score someone like _that_, was that it worked.

In the two years they had been together, they had never faced anything too big or too difficult to surpass. They had had their mishaps, of course, and some had been far more tedious than others, but all in all, they worked. They genuinely did.

Quentin would have liked to brag and say that he worked hard on the bond they shared, that it had taken them a lot of time to cultivate the trust and understanding that ran between them, but the truth simply was that Eliot was kind of fucking easy to live with. Which was shocking considering the pompous, arrogant image Eliot liked to maintain, but when he wasn't playing the dickhead for the few people they sometimes met at the village nearby, he was a really accommodating guy.

For example, Eliot had never complained about the food in Fillory. Maybe it was because he had to ingest muton ragout for months as High King before Josh had become the official cook, or maybe had he been accustomed to really bland food in his childhood, but while Quentin protested against carrot soup, sunflower bread, goat cream cheese and beet jam on a regular basis, and he said protested because he refused to admit that the correct term would be whining, Eliot just powered through it. Better, even, he would take note of everything wrong with their supper and improve the fuck out of it, like the sunflower and carrot cake with pink frosting he'd made for Quentin's first birthday at the Mosaic.

It also helped that Eliot was the one growing all of the vegetables and fruits they ate. Quentin had tried to tend to the garden at first because he knew how agricultural work made Eliot nauseous but every plant of tomatoes he tried to grow eventually shrivelled and died. And yes, the irony of the volunteer tomato killing the literal tomatoes hadn’t been lost on him but he couldn’t help it, they had always turned grey and mushy before falling off the plant in drops of rot. After a few months of mouldered puddles, Eliot had just shooed him away from any crops in a mile radius in fear that Quentin's mere presence would cause a legume massacre.

But Eliot's compliant nature hadn't ended with food, on the contrary, that had just been the beginning of Eliot Being Far Too Nice All The Time.

For the first three months at the Mosaic, Quentin had just believed that Eliot was either faking his composure really well or that he was keeping a secret stash of weed somewhere and that he was high off his mind most of the time. But no, Eliot was just naturally fucking calm about all of this, even on days where Quentin would have literally pulled his hair out of his own scalp from frustration, Eliot just handled it like it was no big deal.

The roof of the cottage was leaking and everything they owned was now drenched in rancid water? No problem! That just gave them the occasion to wash their clothes with the new lavender soap they'd picked from the market and redesign the cottage a little.

The Mosaic was being particularly difficult and no pattern elicited just a spark of magic? It was no biggie, they could just make a blue dick with the tiles and mess around a little for the rest of the day.

Quentin was having a broken brain day and snapped every time Eliot tried to say something? Time to sing Taylor Swift really loudly, even though Eliot barely knew the words, while making lewd gestures to make Quentin laugh.

Nothing phased him, nothing broke his insane calm or disturbed his annoyingly serene poise. It wasn't like he didn't care either, Quentin could see how much Eliot tried with everything, how he gave his whole to the Mosaic, their garden, the cottage or just Quentin himself. It was clear as day that Eliot was serious about this, even if he couldn't say it, that he intended to make the best out of the quest and the life it had given them. And that was the sole reason why Quentin hadn't already lost his mind over this, Eliot was the only reason why he could rationalise it and move on.

But sometimes Eliot's peaceful nature wasn't' enough to diffuse the tension between them, their patience ran too thin, the world was too fucked up and the Mosaic was too much to bear. And sometimes, just sometimes, Quentin was looking for a fucking fight.

He never meant to hurt Eliot, that was never his goal, no matter how mad he was or how stressed out this entire thing made him. He maybe wanted to blow off some steam by breaking a few pots, sometimes quite literally, and he did shout a lot more than necessary on days where everything seemed pointless but Quentin never aspired to upset Eliot.

Never.

But weirdly, that's what he ended up doing.

The fight had started like any other, the hours working on the Mosaic were getting too long, they weren't making any progress and Eliot's stoicism was really starting to get on his last nerves. So, because Quentin was a brat and no one should ever forget that, he nudged.

It wasn't really meant to sting that badly, he was just steaming with anger for this entire fucking thing and Eliot was the closest person, he was the only one who could understand what Quentin was going through and how enraging it all was. It should have just been some harmless teasing, just like Margo would sometimes do when she didn't know how to voice her emotions in a less hostile manner. But maybe Eliot hadn't been as calm as he faked it, or maybe this particular type of teasing had reminded him too much of Margo and everything they had lost, because Eliot had risen to the bait far quicker than usual and Quentin, feeling both satisfied and guilty over this turn of event, hadn't backed off.

If anyone had asked him afterwards what they had fought about, he would have been utterly unable to say or explain it, he didn't even remember if he was being honest. He just knew that one moment he was making a rude comment about something totally trivial and the next, he was throwing a tile at one of the cottage's windows, breaking it in the process.

If Quentin had been on this quest with Penny, it would have probably ended in a fistfight, and if he had been with Julia, they would have hashed it out for hours while sneering and mocking each other viciously. But Eliot? He'd stopped yelling. He had watched the window break, eyes more focused on Quentin than on the glass shattering, before taking the bottle of wine they had opened in the afternoon and disappearing in the woods.

Quentin hadn't followed him, maybe because he was breathing so hard that running after Eliot would have sent him into a truly magnificent panic attack, or maybe because he hadn't known if Eliot would have let him and facing that rejection, facing Eliot's silent anger with no chance of forgiveness, had been far too terrifying.

When Eliot had returned, a little dishevelled and still obviously seething with anger, the sun had set and the wind had knocked over the towers of tiles Quentin hadn't felt like tidying up, leaving a huge colourful mess on their front doorstep.

"Where were you?" Quentin had asked, leaning against the side of their outside bed. He hadn't wanted to lie in it in fear that he would fall asleep and that, when he woke up, Eliot still wouldn't be here. He hated when Eliot left without warning him, even when it was totally innocent and he was just going to the village. Quentin couldn't deal with all of this alone, it made him extremely anxious, especially when he wasn't certain Eliot would ever come back.

Eliot hadn't looked at him, purposefully keeping his glance away from Quentin's face. "That's none of your business."

"I have the right to know where you were all day when we're supposed to be working."

"Don't act like this is about the Mosaic, Quentin," The fact that this was the first time in years he heard Eliot call him by his name left a hole in his guts, "You're just being a fucking asshole and you know it."

It shouldn't have aggravated him that much, this was nothing, just a fucking jab that didn't mean shit, but Quentin couldn't let it go. "That's rich coming from Brakebills's appointed douchebag."

"Don't know if you've noticed, _baby Q_," And that hurt, that truly did, "But we're not in Brakebills anymore. You might need to catch the fuck up."

"_Fuck you_."

"In your dreams."

And it had been the end of it, Eliot had taken his pillow from the outside bed, the one with the small green crown embroideries that Quentin had gotten him for their first Fillorian Christmas and he'd walked inside the cottage without a look thrown towards Quentin.

That nasty fight with no winners and two particularly sour losers hadn't been a long-forgotten thing. It had happened only yesterday and now Quentin had to wake up, alone under the sun, and face the complicated day ahead of him without starting another shouting match with his best friend-slash-lover.

Great, just _motherfucking_ great.

He really hadn't thought this through.

_I should apologise_, he thought, regrets bubbling in his stomach like acid, _I should apologise and explain that I was just being a fucking jerk_. He could even make breakfast and bring it to bed, Eliot did always like to be pampered in the morning, but when he entered the cottage, Eliot was already up, dressed, and hands busy crafting something looking vaguely like cupcakes.

"Are you baking?" Quentin asked, a little astonished. He hadn't expected this, he knew that Eliot was a surprising guy who liked to dazzle people with his singularity, but this was really fucking weird.

"Yes," Eliot said, not looking up from his dough, "Do you also have a problem with that, Q? Because if it bothers you like my, _what did you call it_, snotty ass behaviour, I can take my goddamn cakes to the lake and spend the fucking day there."

"I didn't say that," It shouldn't have made Quentin smile to hear Eliot call him Q, but it did. "I was just wondering why you felt like baking at six in the morning, that's all."

Eliot did look up this time and something in Quentin melted when he saw the flour in his hair. "I'm baking this early, Q, because this morning, when I turned to my left there was no one in the bed with me and it reminded me that you threw a tile at the window and spend the entire night outside like a kicked puppy."

"I didn't think you wanted me to join you yesterday," Quentin whispered. He had truly thought that Eliot had cast him out for the night like you would send your spouse to the sofa when you had a fight. "You kind of shut me out."

"Yeah, because you were being a jerk." Quentin wasn't going to argue with that but Eliot continued anyway, "You know, at first I thought you were actually mad at me for switching the colour pattern," Oh yeah, that's what the fight had been about. "But then," Eliot stared at him and his eyes were darker than usual, "I realised you were being a fucking prick for no reasons at all and you just wanted to start shit."

He wasn't going to argue about that either, especially not when it was the truth.

"I'm sorry," He said instead, "I truly am. I don't know why I was being such an idiot yesterday, I just, was, I guess."

Eliot looked at him, his eyes still an unfamiliar shade of amber before he sighed and threw his apron on the table, "I know you're sorry, I already knew yesterday but you really know how to push all of my buttons, Coldwater."

There was no edge to Eliot's words, just the familiar warm taunting Quentin had learned to love.

"I'm still sorry," He said, walking around the small kitchen counter and grabbing the corner of Eliot's shirt to pull him a little closer. "And I thought of how I could make you forgive me, but my plans of bringing you breakfast in bed kind of fell flat."

A sly smile widened on Eliot's face, illuminating Quentin's entire world with just a small show of teeth. "That's a shame."

Quentin hummed, "It really is." He usually wasn't this confident, and he wasn't really now either, but the way Eliot's fingers grazed his cheeks tenderly gave him the push he needed to press a quick, but definitely suggestive, kiss to Eliot's pink lips. "I wonder what I can do to apologize properly."

"I have an idea," Eliot said, his fingers finding the back of Quentin's neck, making Quentin shiver and twist a little to get more of Eliot's touch. "But I don't think it will be all that proper." It was fucking cheesy and it shouldn't have been this hot, but Quentin moaned anyway, arousal growing quickly inside of him as Eliot unfastened his shirt and threw it aside without even looking where it landed.

It didn't make much sense for Eliot to always completely strip him of his clothes, especially when all Quentin did was fall to his knees and work his way to Eliot's breeches desperately, but there was something exciting and a little obscene in being so exposed in front of an almost entirely dressed and all in control Eliot. Maybe it was something they could explore a bit more in a given time, but right now all Quentin cared about was getting his mouth on Eliot's dick.

Quentin really couldn't explain why the warm weight and taste of Eliot's cock made him absolutely lose his mind as it did. It had been as much of a surprise for him as it had been for Eliot when they had started having sex recurrently. To be honest, before Eliot, this hadn't been his favourite part of sex with any guys he'd been before, be it in high school or in college, but with Eliot, it felt good, really good.

He couldn't help but love how his mouth stretched over all of Eliot's length, how it would ache just a little, reminding him he was the one making Eliot groan and tighten his grasp on Quentin's hair. He adored every second of it, from the raw feeling of being naked at Eliot's feet, to how breathless the pace Eliot established left him.

That was actually something they had talked about, and Quentin had actually asked for once. It hadn't been easy telling Eliot that he really didn't mind when Eliot pushed a little more than he was usually doing, when he didn't leave Quentin breathe as freely as he should. He'd been legitimately embarrassed for a solid week before Eliot had shown him the benefit of voicing his wishes and then his worries had flown out of the window to never be seen again.

"You're so good for me, baby," He heard Eliot mutter, low and eager, "So so sweet for me."

Quentin moaned around Eliot's dick, his hips buckling as arousal overtook him. He knew rationally that he couldn't just come from Eliot playing with his hair and calling him good, but he felt like he could. His skin was on fire, he wanted to rub himself all over Eliot's leg and he didn't know why but this image of him, desperate and whining on his knees, while Eliot moved his head as he pleased was turning him on a lot more than it should have.

Eliot's nails dug a little deeper into his scalp and Quentin let out a pleased whimper. His nerves were on fire, he was burning up and he was certain that if Eliot's fingers only brushed against his dick he would come on the floor, barely touched and completely wrecked. He didn't stop moving when he felt Eliot falter over him, he didn't stop either when Eliot warned him, he just swirled his tongue over the head of Eliot's cock and swallowed around it as Eliot groaned.

Even after, he couldn't stop, he didn't know how, not when it felt so right. Eliot must have felt his frenzy, he stopped the motion and tugged Quentin away by the hair, gentle not to pluck any away but tightly enough that Quentin felt it run to his dick. He moaned again but Eliot ignored his desperation and pulled him to his feet, keeping him close but not close enough for Quentin to find any friction.

"Do you know how pretty you look, Q?" Eliot whispered warmly against his ear, making him tingle all over. "Your cheeks are red and your eyes are so shiny."

Quentin couldn't speak even if he tried, he was panting harshly, his chest heaving with it. He just kissed the corner of Eliot's mouth, biting his bottom lip in the process and smiling against it when Eliot returned the kiss.

"So pretty," Eliot continued, kissing his way to Quentin's beating heart with something that felt far too close to adoration for Quentin not to feel a little dizzy with it. "I'm gonna take care of you, Q."

When Eliot wrapped his unnaturally sleek hand over Quentin's cock, the world stopped turning. A handjob shouldn't have felt like a revelation bigger than life's most precious treasures, but it did. Maybe it was because Quentin was throbbing for it, almost delirious as Eliot fondled the head of his dick, or maybe it was simply because it was Eliot.

_Eliot_ who sang pop songs he didn't like when Quentin couldn't see the good in his life. _Eliot_ who brought him inexpensive gifts from the village, like scraps of fabrics the tailor was throwing away, because he knew Quentin wouldn't accept anything that would make them poorer than they already were but he wouldn't return empty-handed. _Eliot_, a twenty-four-year-old version of him, who had confessed one of his darkest secrets to a guy he had just met to make him able to live with himself another day.

When he came, he felt so overwhelmed that he swore a few tears escaped him.

Eliot was holding him up, his arms warm and familiar in a way that made his heart flutter, and Quentin let himself curl up, nuzzling Eliot's chest because he wasn't tall enough to hide his face in his neck.

"Are you okay, baby Q?" The nickname sounded right now, not like it had yesterday, Quentin loved it.

He loved it so much.

Loved him.

_Gosh_.

"Yeah," He replied, his voice muffled by Eliot's shirt. "Yeah, I'm really good."

"That you were," Eliot said and Quentin couldn't help but snort inelegantly.

"I'm still sorry," He had to apologise again because this felt too nice and shame still called to him at the back of his mind. "For what I said."

"It's okay," Eliot said, kissing his hair like he always did when they started addressing their feelings, "You're forgiven, Q." His hands found their way to Quentin's cheeks again, lifting his head to stare into his eyes. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have left yesterday. I knew that it would stress you out. I wasn't thinking."

Quentin nodded, "Just promise you won't run away again? Ever?"

Eliot smiled and rested his forehead against Quentin's, closing his eyes and embracing him a little closer. "I promise."

Quentin breathed in Eliot's scent, that one mix of sandalwood and sugarplum that reminded Quentin of home and _mine_. It also reminded him of another sweet thing that was starting to smell a little burnt.

"Weren't you baking cupcakes?"

"Oh, shit!"

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please leave a comment! and thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://starryspice.tumblr.com/)
> 
> find my queliot writing playlist, [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3uwoWyhP66LOasCpbBe8d5?si=thAUZfDjQvyZ62YlHbd9_A)


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